


V'ahavta

by consumptive_sphinx



Category: The Silmarillion and Other Histories of Middle Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/pseuds/consumptive_sphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you shall love ... With every heartbeat, with every breath, with every conscious act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	V'ahavta

"And you shall love," Findaráto whispers. It's late at night; they're the only ones still awake. Even Fëanáro has left his forge and slipped into bed. 

"With every breath," Makalaurë confirms, drawing Findaráto closer. "With every heartbeat. With every conscious act."

It isn't as rehearsed or as flowery as some wedding vows, but it's theirs. That's enough for them. 

 

It goes on for three years before Fëanáro finds out, but when he finds them twined together in Makalurë's bed he's furious. He shouts at Makalaurë until his son's eyes well up, but refuses to even acknowledge Findaráto. 

They don't go further than kisses and whispers after that. Not in Tirion, not where Fëanáro could see. 

 

In Middle-Earth - well. 

They find each other as soon as they can. They sleep curled up together, they go far further then kisses and whispers. 

Fëanor is too obsessive about the Silmarilli to notice them at first, and later he is not there to notice. While Maglor's brothers have varying opinions even Caranthir is smart enough to keep their mouths shut rather than risk Maedhros's wrath. 

They don't have to hide anymore, and for a while, that's an intoxicating thought. 

 

Reality sets in quickly.

They don't have to hide anymore, that's true. But the Kinslayings and the Grinding Ice lay heavy between them, though both try not to acknowledge the fact.

 

They go their serparate ways. They both have people to lead, realms to rule. 

Curufin and Celegorm arrive in Nargothrond. Everybody knows that Curufin looks just like Fëanor, but Finrod thinks that he looks like Maglor too - not identical, but the resemblance is there. 

He watches Curufin, thinks of Maglor, and lets the thought ache. 

 

Finrod knows that it's Sauron in front of him. He knows about the Maia's shapeshifting, he knows that Sauron is called The Lord of Lies. 

But what he sees is Maglor. Maglor with his warm grey eyes, Maglor with his dark curls falling in front of his face because he forgot to braid them, Maglor with a smile that never fails to light up the darkest rooms. 

"Do you have any last words?" Sauron asks, but it's Maglor's voice, and it's to Maglor that Finrod's response is directed. 

"And you shall love," he says, voice cracking. 

Maglor - Sauron - laughs, and lets in the wolf. 

 

Maglor doesn't know why. 

But suddenly his heart feels like it's being ripped in two -

\- and Maglor screams. 

 

He doesn't remember much about the next few weeks, just a blur of pain and tears and Maedhros holding him and an overwhelming sense of loss. 

The only detail he can recall is saying over and over into Maedhros's chest: "With every heartbeat, with every breath, with every conscious act."

Maedhros doesn't ask what he means, just strokes his hair and murmurs comforting nonsense. 

 

Maedhros asks him, when they get home, why he wanted to adopt the twins. 

"Because it seemed like the least I could do," he says, and atonement is certainly a reason but it isn't the reason. 

Elrond and Elros remind him of Finrod. Elros has his smile, Elrond his speech patterns; Elros has his habit of gesturing as he talks, Elrond the faraway looks that indicate foresight. 

Maglor takes care of the twins, thinks of Finrod, and lets the thought ache. 

 

It's over. 

It's finally over. 

The Silmarilli are gone. 

Maglor is free. 

 

The world changes around him, and Maglor changes with it. He never forgets. 

 

In the middle of the Seventh Age, Maglor's train crashes, snapping his neck instantly. 

He feels no pain. In a way, he's grateful for the rest. 

 

"Makalaurë."

He hasn't used that name in years. 

"Findaráto?" Makalaurë asks, not quite letting himself hope. "Shouldn't you be reembodied already?"

Findaráto shakes his head. "I was waiting for you." He steps forward and cups Makalurë's cheek in one hand. "A-" His voice cracks. "And you shall love?"

The uncertainty in his wide blue eyes is the worst part. ""With every heartbeat," Makalurë says, laying one hand on Findaráto's shoulder, "with every breath, with every conscious act."


End file.
